


Intermission

by enigmaticdr



Category: Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, I had an itch and I had to scratch it, Oral Sex, RPF, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Trailer Sex, enter at your own risk, ok maybe im a little bit sorry, smoking cigarettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticdr/pseuds/enigmaticdr
Summary: Intermission: a short interval between the acts of a play or parts of a performance; a period during which action temporarily ceases, allowing the performers a rest. AKA: what Gillian and Mads sometimes do in his trailer between calls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is an RPF fic. If this kind of thing bothers you, please don’t read. Actually, no one read this. 
> 
> Here be nothing but shameless smut. It's my first try and I'm actually terrified so I didn’t do much characterization, like, at all. I know there’s some of you out there who are in the Maderson trashcan with me, so this one’s for you guys, with love ❤️

The light streams through the slats of the blinds covering the windows of his trailer, spilling across the bed in perfect slices of crystal white afternoon sun. It pools over their bodies and scintillates on their sweaty skin. It is hot, almost unbearably so, the summer humidity fighting with the small air conditioner plugged in and humming busily in the corner. 

They’d mercifully been given the afternoon off after an intense morning of filming, and when he’d texted her and asked her to come to his trailer, no pretense or excuse attached in the message, she hadn’t even changed out of Bedelia’s dress before she was knocking on his screen door. Mads still owns a flip phone and texts from the keypad, and so his message had been short and to the point, like it usually is.

She likes how he doesn’t play games. She’s had more than her fair share of that, and so it is delightfully refreshing to be in the company of someone who simply tells it like it is. She has such an appreciation for Mads’ honesty. She has such an appreciation for him in general - he’s amiable and calm and easygoing, and she likes how he seems to make the type A melt right out of her.

This thing they have: it’s simple and it is relatively healthy and she doesn’t feel guilty about it, the way she so often does with others.

She closes her eyes, feels the soft sheets under her body, feels the heat of his flesh pressed close against hers, feels how the the built-in bedframe rocks back and forth in time with his body. She knows that the movement must be shaking the entire fucking trailer but she doesn’t, in this moment, care about anything outside their insulated little cocoon.

All she can think about is the fact that his is the biggest cock she’s ever had. It’s the biggest cock she’s ever had and it feels  _ so _ good, thrusting into her thick and hard like that from behind, the fitted sheet curling off the edge of the mattress and the pillow absorbing her her moans and the imprint of her teeth as she bites down into it.

He drives her crazy. He drives her wild. He grips her ass, spanks it, murmurs in Danish under his breath and holds her hips steady to keep her in place when her knees start to slip on the loose sheet.

“I’ve wanted you all day,” he tells her, sliding a hand up her back to massage her neck. “All day when you were in that dress.”

The dress, the dark green one that hugged every curve of her, the one with the neckline that plunged past her sternum, the one she wore when they filmed the kiss, is currently bunched in a wrinkled ball beside the bed, on the floor of his trailer.

She laughs breathlessly, pulls away and turns over onto her back to lie facing him. “That was a good scene,” she giggles, panting.

“It was,” he smiles down at her and hooks his hands behind her bent knees, pulling her closer so her ass rests against his coarse thighs. He rises up onto his knees, thumbs her clit with one hand and wraps his other around his cock, guiding himself back to her, pushing slowly, so slowly, into her.

And  _ God _ , he is so fucking  _ big _ and she really had forgotten what it was like to take this man inside her body.

Her mind barely has the chance to consider asking him for the small bottle of lube that she  _ knows _ is in his bedside table drawer before he is gone, slithering back down the bed on his gymnast’s knees, kissing down the length of her body on his way. She closes her eyes in appreciation of his ability to know exactly what she needs. That is part of what makes him such a great actor, such a fantastic co-star: his uncanny gift of knowing what she’s thinking, knowing how to play the scene exactly right, knowing precisely where she wants to take it.

She shivers, nipples so hard they could surely cut glass, two crinoline peaks, pink and pert. He sucks each one into his warm mouth before kissing a line down the barely-there peach fuzz on her abdomen and sliding his tongue into her bellybutton. She knows where he’s going and she can’t wait, can’t stand his teasing. She threads her fingers through his hair, pushes him down, slides her smooth calves over his shoulders to rub his back with the soles of her feet.

He kisses her inner thighs, drawing out the anticipation, then gently nuzzles her mons with his nose before using his tongue to taste her. He massages her clit gently, so gently, with his tongue and brings one hand up, sliding a thick finger inside her and curling it forward in a come-hither motion against her g-spot.

He closes his mouth around the nub of nerves and sucks steadily, the rhythm of his mouth matching that of his finger inside her. He alternates between long, slow open mouthed kisses and quick flicks with the hardened tip of his tongue.

“Oh…” she breathes, tightening her fingers in his hair. “Yeah…” The heat is so intense, it pools low in her abdomen and she feels it colouring her cheeks, feels it seeping out of her. How can something feel so warm and so tingly and so unbearably numb at the same time? She readjusts her grip on his hair, moving his mouth a bit higher on her. She has never been afraid or ashamed of telling him what she wants; perhaps, she thinks, it is due to the characters they play together. Perhaps that’s just the way they are with each other.

He hums in response, the vibration traveling up his throat and through his mouth and into her core. She sighs, closing her eyes and biting her lip with the pleasure of it. She loves sex with him because it is so fucking  _ good _ and there’s just the perfect amount of history between them to make it work perfectly: comfortable acquaintances with no baggage in the relationship to potentially make it complicated.

He begins to suck harder and moves his hand more insistently, fucking her with his tongue and with his fingers. She can feel herself so unbearably wet and so ready, and she wants to come, wants to come so badly, closes her eyes and imagines his face there between her legs, thinks about what he’s doing to her, and yes, yes, almost…there it is. There. The wave crests and breaks, washing through her. She inhales sharply and moans breathily on the exhale, her body shaking its release.

She trembles with the aftershocks of her orgasm and he climbs back up her body, nuzzling her breasts and wiping his mouth against her satiny skin. He lifts his head and kisses her hard, reaching up to tuck her messy hair behind her ear. She palms her own breasts to control the way they sway up and down as he ruts against her, rosy nipples peeking out from between her fingers. “I want you,” she tells him.

After a couple of false starts he sinks into her with a groan, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. The visual is too much and she closes her eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, the jolts of electricity sparking low in her belly as his thumb rubs furious circles against the small bundle of nerves between her legs. So sensitive. So good. So good.  

This, she thinks, this is what she travels eight hours on a plane for. Oh, yes,  _ this _ .

He fucks her just the way she likes it best, like he means it, so she can feel it all the way in the back of her skull. The rhythmic slap of his skin against hers is the only sound save for their harsh breathing and the distant sound of tech crews having a smoke break somewhere outside.

She cries out as he hits a particularly good spot, again, and again and again. And again. Her mouth drops open and her head drops back, her fingers bunching the sheets in her fists.

“Shhh,” he grins, and leans down to kiss her, swallowing her desperate sounds.

He is so, so much taller than she is. Sometimes she forgets, because as Bedelia she is constantly wearing some of the tallest heels she’s had to put on in a long time. Now, his body dwarfs hers in length, his back bowed so he can reach her lips with his and still stay buried to the hilt inside her.

She hooks her ankles together at the base of his spine, pushing him closer and bracing her hands against the headboard to push back against his thrusts. The sheet under the small of her back is damp with sweat and her body slides up a bit every time he pushes into her.

“F-f-f-uck,” she wails, voice pitching higher with each thrust.

“Okay?” he asks, unfailingly attentive to her reactions.

“Yeah. Oh yeah, god, keep going,” she murmurs, then giggles out loud, the sound bubbling up her throat, because she’s happy, pushing up on her elbow to kiss him. He smiles against her mouth, separates their lips wetly to smear open mouthed kisses along her jawbone.

He reaches down with the arm not supporting his weight, curls his hand on the back of her thigh and folds it upwards, opening her, stretching her, so far that her knee almost brushes her breast. He’s done this before - he did this last time - and oh god it had made her come harder than she had in years.

She whimpers, covers her mouth with her fist, bites down her her knuckles to keep from crying out at the perfection of the new angle.

“Fuck.” he growls, letting out a low, harsh groan. He rises up on his knees again, one hand still pushing her knee up, grabbing her sweaty hand and bringing it to his lips. He wets her fingers with his own saliva before guiding her hand to her clit. “Like that,  _ min elsker.” _

She rubs furiously, circling her clit over and over just the way she knows will make herself come again.

“I’m so close,” she tells him, holding his gaze even as her eyes begin to roll back into her skull with the pleasure of it. “Don’t stop,” she encourages him, “don’t stop, don’t stop.”

The wave of her orgasm overtakes her, the feeling creeping up through her toes and then washing ruthlessly through every part of her body, curling her toes and stopping her breath and making her squeeze her eyes closed and clench her teeth so hard that she’s afraid she’s going to rupture something important. Her mouth opens in a voiceless scream and her entire body tenses, her hips undulating over and over and over in time with the pins and needles of pleasure.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he groans with her, and thrusts a half-dozen more times before his pace becomes sloppy, erratic, and with a loud unchecked groan he pushes deep inside and holds still, his face tipped up towards the ceiling in a contorted grimace, the muscles in his neck rigid as he begins to come.

“That’s it, that’s it, just like that,” she whispers, because she knows how much he loves it when she talks to him that way. She squeezes her thighs around his hips, pulling him even closer. He jerks a couple of times insider her, involuntarily, trembling with the aftershocks, groaning his pleasure into her ear, burying his face in her neck.  

She loves how loud he is when he comes, how unashamed and how comfortable he is with himself. It allows her to be so as well, to be perfectly herself. She doesn’t have to put up a front, an act, she doesn’t have to be perfect because he is non-judgmental and more than at ease with his own faults and vices. The absence of pressure is wonderful.  

He pulls out, tossing the condom into the garbage bin beside the bed. He collapses on the mattress beside her, exhaling long and hard, trying to catch his breath. Her own chest rises and falls rapidly in tandem with his.

“You’re wonderful,” he says, voice gruff and accent heavy.

“Hmm,” she smiles. She closes her eyes and basks in the sunlight and in the blissful exhaustion.

 

* * *

 

They lie in the mess of white sheets, sharing a single pillow because the second one is still somewhere under her hips and the others are strewn on the floor of the trailer beside the bed.

They are pressed against one another on the mattress beneath the open window, sweaty skin sticking together.  Her leg is tangled between both of his, her thigh pressed lazily against the warmth of his crotch. Her hair, damp at the temples, is strewn across his shoulder and his arm is snug around her, her cheek pressed to the coarse hair covering his chest like a pelt. Absently, she twists her fingertips in the curls, gently playing.

He sits up on his elbow, threading his fingers through his hair to push it out of his eyes. It is sweaty and stands up on end like a porcupine. She laughs, and he chuckles along with her. It is a long-standing joke between the hair department and the actors - how long it takes and how much hairspray is needed to shape those long brown strands into Hannibal’s perfect coiffure.

He reaches over her to the bedside table and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. He places the cigarette between his lips and she plucks the lighter from his hand, flicking the flame to life and reaching up to light the tip of the cigarette for him herself.

He takes a few long draws, sucking the smoke deep into his chest and turning his head to exhale in the direction of the window. She walks her fingers down his arm and takes the cigarette from his fingers, putting it between her own lips and taking a deep breath in. It’s been a while since she’s smoked. She realizes with a small smile that she really only ever smokes now when she’s with him. She takes another long suck from the cigarette before handing it back to him, holding the smoke inside her lungs, loving the way the burn makes her feel.

When he’s taken some into his mouth again she reaches up and presses her fingers to his chin, making him turn to look at her. She tilts her face up and presses her lips to his, opening his mouth with her tongue and exhaling, the smoke escaping from both their mouths each time their lips part. 

She breaks the kiss with a soft wet pop, tucking herself back into the crook of his arm. “Shit, I’m gonna fall asleep,” she says with a yawn, eyes closing.

He chuckles and jostles her with the arm that is tucked around her, pressing his lips to her forehead. “We have a call in an hour.”

“I know,” she groans. “I don’t even know if I can fucking walk,” she giggles.

“I’ll find you some crutches,” he teases, accent thick in his satiated state. “That will look good. Get rid of the suspicions. You can say you’re practicing for Bedelia.”

She laughs and swats his chest, pressing her face into his side. “Shut the fuck up.”

He holds the cigarette to her mouth again and she parts her lips, taking another long drag, exhaling towards the ceiling. Sex and cigarettes. The air is thick with it, and she inhales it greedily, inhales the smell of  _ them _ .

“You probably have twenty minutes or so to nap,” he says, finishing off the cigarette and snuffing it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. “You’ll still have time to shower if you want. I’ll wake you up.”

“Mmm. Okay.” Twenty minutes is too short; she wants more than twenty minutes, wants a longer break from the anxiety and the stress that he seems to melt from her body. It is impossible not to be at ease around him.

She turns over and he moves accommodatingly to spoon her, his arm tucked around her waist, palm casually cupping the teardrop weight of her breast, stroking her nipple absently. His entire body is molded to hers and really, it is much too hot in the trailer for this, the poor air conditioner working on overdrive, but she doesn’t care. She likes it, likes this closeness with another human, likes the fact that he has no expectations and holds no grudges and and is willing to simply  _ be _ , with her, in this moment even if not in any other.

“Don’t fall asleep or we’ll miss our call,” she murmurs, reaching back to pinch his thigh, already half-way to unconsciousness.

“I won’t,” he assures her, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder. “Twenty minutes.”

An honorable man, he keeps his promise.

But when he wakes her up she pulls him into the shower, and then they both end up late to their call anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> Santa says you’re all on the naughty list. 
> 
> *Jumps into trashcan* *closes lid* *sets trashcan on fire* Goodbye forever.


End file.
